


The Old Story

by therune



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Family, Family Dynamics, Gen, Introspection, Team Dynamics, rolemodel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therune/pseuds/therune
Summary: Jesse McCree has been with Blackwatch for half a year before a top-secret mission to take out a terrorist cell requires him to reevaluate his status in Blackwatch, his commander and even Strike Commander Morrison.





	1. Chapter 1

Supersoldiers are meant to walk off bullets. But Jesse isn't one of them and when a shot hits his thigh he doesn't yell “Fuck“ and soldiers on – he screams and falls down hard. There is pain, loud thudding noises – Morrison, running. He's grabbing Jesse by an arm and his belt, hoists him over his shoulders and keeps going. Jesse's initial surprise once he realizes that Morrison hasn't even slowed down, fades into the background as a new thought pierces through the haze of pain into his mind: Jack fucking Morrison is speeding up.   
Sure, it could be shock or the agony he feels messing with his perception, but he's certain all the same that they're gaining speed. The hail of bullets hasn't stopped, neither has the noise.   
“Jack“ is the solitary shout he can discern, the one that matters. This is when Morrison leaps over a fallen tree trunk and in a fluid motion deposits Jesse gently onto the ground – or at least carefully since the cirumstances don't allow gentleness – pops a biotic canister from his belt and takes the pulse rifle from his back. He's laying down cover fire before Jesse even feels the tingling, itching sensation of the glowing field knitting his flesh back together. It takes effort to do even the simple movement of turning his head, but Jesse can't not do it. Morrison is standing straight, textbook posture, mowing down enemies. Jesse wants to help and struggles to reach for his gun.  
“It's alright son,“ a cocky grin, “I got this.“   
There is a brief pause when Morrison reloads and he spares a precious moment to place a hand on Jesse's shoulder in a comforting manner. At this point, Jesse gets it. 

 

 

“You wanted to see me, boss?“ he drawls and strides into Reyes' office. Most of it is black, from the wall to the furniture and even the carpet. Only the big, translucent monitors on the desk brighten up the place, at least when they're not in standby and only display the Blackwatch logo in dark red. Reyes does know how to make an impression. It doesn't work on Jesse, not anymore. He spent most of his childhood and teenage years seeing threatening, posturing and the like, so he's good at making out genuine power next to the pretense. And what Reyes has is the real deal. Jesse's always been more impressed by the man than the legend anyway. He's been with Blackwatch for more than half a year now, has his first dozen assignments under his belt. Today he's had just enough time to peel out of his uniform and step into a shower after they had returned from some hush-hush business in Hong Kong. He was still looking into the mirror and contemplating growing out a beard, wondering if maybe it would stop coming in patchy this time and turn into something proper, like Reyes and his goatee, and then the call came in.   
It feels ridiculous to be in the heart of Blackwatch with damp hair and in sweats, but no one leaves Reyes waiting.   
“New intel came in. Terror cell moving in the Colombian jungle, setting up camp. Transport, weapons and all other nasty business.“  
“When are we moving?“ Jesse hopes there will be time for a hot dinner instead of protein bars and ration packs on the plane. Now that he has access to things like food on a regular basis and a proper bed in his own room, it's easy to grow accustomed to a certain level of comfort.   
“Tomorrow at 0400. I'll brief the team on the plane.“  
“Who are we taking?“ The plural pronoun slips out before he has a chance of taking it back. It's also easy to get used to a team and a real leader.   
Reyes has noticed – of course he has, damn super soldier probably has a photographic memory or whatever, coupled with the healing factor, muscles for miles and the endurance of a particularly motivated rhinoceros – but doesn't comment.   
“Depends. We need stealth to get inside the camp, and lots of firepower once we're in. But we shouldn't take more than two people, one would work better.“  
He turns two of the monitors towards Jesse. One shows various maps and sketches, showing the camp itself and the surrounding area. The other displays names as well as mug shots, crates and their contents in a list format.   
“What do you think?“ Reyes' expresson betrays nothing, but Jesse knows he's being tested. Already he has proven that he can shoot; hell, that's probably why he was even recruited instead of being left to rot. Six months with Reyes have shown that he can follow orders – maybe with a bit of snark (he calls it charm) – without any disobediance.   
Time for the next lesson.   
“We can't drop to the camp itself - too risky.“ He points to the map, wishing he had a smoke with him - “we could come in from either the south side or the east. Other ways are too exposed. But,“ he stops to enhance the map and a photo, hoping it will still be useful despite the poor quality, “if that thing that looks like a turret is indeed a turret, then the south way is a dead end. So we need to go in from the east.“  
Reyes nods once, motioning for him to continue. His face betrays nothing.   
“Safest point to drop and also for pick-up is this patch over here, decent pilot could make it at night.“ The plan takes shape in his mind. Being outnumbered is no problem, and Reyes has yet to be overwhelmed by anything. Yes, the enemies have a lot of weapons, but those can be used against them. A few well-placed fuses, maybe a grenade and their stash - along with most terrorists – will be gone in a flash. There are a couple of good spots near the edge of the camp; should provide decent cover. There is just one real problem he can see.  
“What do you reckon is the state of the bridge?“  
“That's more pre-Colombian art, less valid infrastructure,“ Reyes supplies.   
“Well, the chasm between the drop-off and the camp is a bit wide to jump. No offense to you, boss, but unless you secretly kept your track&field trophies from me, I don't see a way over it. At least, not a quiet, stealthy way we can manage at night.“  
There's several devices, of course, but they either make noise, need more stable ground than the crumbling edge of the jungle floor or are too cumbersome to be included in a parachute drop.   
“Do you have any medals in the long-jump I don't know about?“  
Now Reyes grins. “In a way...“  
He spins the monitors back to face him. “You did good, Jesse. Go to mess, then rest up. Standard gear required. We'll see each other in the hangar.“   
Jesse gives him a salute that's more wishful thinking than standard proedure and leaves. As he turns, he can see that the monitors show the roster. Technically, Blackwatch can request any active agent from the whole Overwatch organization when their special talents are needed. He can see Reyes scrolling through a sea of profile photos before the door closes behind him. 

 

4 in the morning is too damn early for anything. Even when he knows he has to get up and had therefore prepared his gear in advance, had gone to bed while the sun was still up and taken every precaution; 4 am is not his friend. Jesse has no idea if Reyes even slept – supersoldiers can probably run on 20 minutes in 3 days – since he looks exactly the same, if armed this time.   
Jesse blames the early hour for his initial confusion when Ramirez, their pilot, asks if he's excited.   
She's never asked that before a mission and it sounds too weird. Like she is excited, thrilled and almost giddy. Is there a personal stake involved he doesn't know about? Why get worked up about a regular op?  
“Yeah, sure,“ he replies and wishes the rules would allow him a last cigar before they go up in the air, but the hangar is a strict no-smoking zone.   
“There he is,“ Reyes announces the arrival of their third team mate. Jesse's not too worried – they have hours in the plane to synch up and work on strategy.   
The new guy is tall – as tall as Reyes – clad in standard blackwatch gear, with a tall rifle strapped to his back. Jesse can hear himself thinking “Now wait, that guy seems familiar“ which only sends a humiliating flash of embarrassment through his entire body, hot from his flushed cheeks over his spine down to his toes, once he recognizes him, when Reyes barks out a short laugh – a previously unheard sound, gruff but warm somehow – and tugs the black beanie from the stranger's head.   
“Been wondering where that had gone to after breakfast,“ he admits as he puts his own beanie on his head again. Without it, the stranger is now complete, with a mess of blond hair and the eyepicece-visor he clips to his ear.  
It's the Strike Commander, Jack fucking Morrison standing next to him in the hanger bay at 4am, bound for a Blackwatch op in the Colombian jungle. 

 

Jesse had been absolutely determined not to like Morrison. He's never met the guy except if you count seeing him from the last row of the auditorium, giving some inspiring speech that sounded like a ghost writer had seen a little too many fantasy movies and had tried to see how many of the rousing speeches they could cram into 5 minutes. But the other agents talk and Jesse's alwas been a social creature. Everybody knows the story of the supersoldiers, fighting in the Omnic crisis, damn heroes. And everbody knows that Reyes was the commanding officer, was the damn boss, and still pretty boy Morrison got the promotion and became Strike Commander. Jesse has seen Reyes in action and the man deserves not just a godamn medal or a wardrobe full of trophies or ten – he deserves to be top dog.   
So, once he overcomes the first seconds of “holy fucking shit, that's Jack Morrison“ he drawls out a “Howdy“ and tips his hat in greeting.   
“Let's get this show on the road,“ Reyes commands and soon they take off. 

 

Reyes is in the middle, Jack on his right and Jesse on his left and that act alone is a a cardinal sin. That's his spot, and he doesn't care if he sounds like a petulant teenager to even himself. Jesse's honestly tempted to ask to swap seats if they weren't strapped in tightly and hurtling through the sky.   
Jesse listens – it would be a death sentence to ignore a mission briefing – but he finds enough brain power to glare at Morrison and think all manners of unkind thoughts. It's going to be a long 10 hours. 

Jesse's really trying to not like him, but that turns out to be impossible. It's like hating a golden retriever and not only does Jesse actually like dogs, Morrison is so focused on Reyes it would be weird if it weren't sort of cute.   
Morrison listens to the plan intently, studies the compiled map and spends the rest of the time mooning over Reyes. He smiles all the time and it feels actually genuine. Jesse knows pretense – spent enough time watch Deadlock guys promoting themselves and showing they're the biggest and baddest – to recognize when someone's faking. Morrison means every smile.  
And that's not even the weirdest thing. Morrison looks at Reyes as if the guy hung the damn moon, but Reyes does the same thing. It's good, but it also hurts when you recognize that your boss – who is so much more than that – has this whole other side, filled with affection, small private gestures and this soft laugh, that you never even knew about. That you wouldn't know if it existed if not for today and Jack fucking Morrison. Jesse may have known Reyes for 6 months, but Morrison has known him for years and war and half his life. There is a bond there, plain to see.   
It's bitter, but what else did he expect? He is - at best - Reyes' pet project, to test if this was better than prison for him. He draws in on himself, crosses his arms and pretends it's not a hug for himself by himself, the hat slung low in his face. Great, he wanted to hate Morrison at the beginning of the trip and now he hates himself. Well done, Jesse.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jesse?“ and that's Morrison, peering around Reyes' bulk.   
“Hm?“ It's rude – to any superior, but that's the fucking Strike Commander and -  
“Show some respect,“ Reyes grumbles and sticks his elbow into Jesse's side as a reprimand, but Morrison just laughs.   
“It's not even 5am yet, let him be grumpy. It's not like a certain someone is any different.“ Jesse can practically taste the world shared between them.   
“We can't all be farmboys who get up at the crack of dawn,“ Reyes teases back.   
“I didn't grow up on a farm and you know that.“  
“Whatever, Indiana,“   
“Whatever L.A.“ 

 

From underneath his hat Jesse can watch people discreetly, a skill he has taken great care not to show to people. Better they assume he's lazy and not paying attention than to let them see that he's watching and that he's learning.   
Fading into the background is usually easy, but right now he might be invisible. Morrison and Reyes are facing each other, twisted in their seats. In low voices they talk about the past week and what the other has been up to at work. It prickles Jesse's skin, the domesticity of it.   
“Hong Kong any fun?“ Morrison asks, elbow resting on the wall, hand on his own head. If the blond hair were any longer, he'd probably be twirling the strands between his fingers. Universal sign that a girl is into you, playing with her hair, one of the guys in the gang had said. Jesse had soaked up information back then, too, but without the critical thinking skills he's had to develop to survive. Looking back, it was probably one of the older ones who was so certain he was a stud and irresistible and convincing himself that all the girls wanted him, who told Jesse that. Didn't make it true then, but damn, if it doesn't look like it now. Of course Jesse doesn't have the best angle – he can only see the bits that are not obscured by Reyes, and those only from the corner of his eyes. Still – the universe would be hard-pressed to find a man looking more in love than Jack fucking Morrion right at this moment in time. What Jesse wouldn't give to see Reyes now... but the man has his back turned, so all Jesse sees is his hoodie, a few stray curls and then his ever-present beanie. Body language reads relaxed though. Comfortable. None of the usual panther-like sprawl, the one that telegraphs just how much of a badass-in-charge Reyes is, but genuinely relaxed.   
“Some ambassador meeting. Apparently there's a big surprise coming. I don't like it.“  
Reyes chuckles. “Never met a guy who hates surprises as much as you do.“  
“Last big surprise was the boss of the UN pinning a medal to my chest and promoting me to an office job in charge of an international peacekeeping organization. Can't blame me for being wary of them.“  
That gets Jesse to perk up. He has to be talking about the Strike Commander position.   
“Shit. I remember your face turning all the colors of the rainbow in a second when Petras made that announcement. I'm sure glad they didn't stick me with that job. I would have caused an international incident before noon.“   
“Do you remember that deal with Hungary? I almost did!“  
Both laugh, Reyes shifting and moving his arm, but Jesse can't see exactly what he's doing.   
“You ever think about what if our positions were reversed?“ Reyes muses. It doesn't sound wistful, or sad. It's like he's not even bothered, making small-talk that has as much intellectual content as asking which flavour of syrup he likes on his pancakes.   
“Every damn time I have to sign anything or smile for the camera or do a press release or an interview. I would be great with Blackwatch.“  
“Of course your inner adrenaline junkie would be happy.“  
“Parachuting into enemy territory at night in the jungle with only two guys as back-up? Hell yeah. You know that this is vacation for me?“  
Morrison sounds excited. Like a kid in a candy shop. Or apparently the super soldier on a top secret op. “How about we switch next week? You get to talk budget and public relations with the Eastern European countries' ambassadors, I get to...what are you up to next week?“  
Morrison doesn't know? That's odd. Jesse knows that Morrison can't keep track of every mission in the whole of Overwatch, but for sure he'd be interested in Blackwatch.   
“Something nasty in Mumbai. PD.“  
Police department?  
“PD,“ Morrison repeats and exhales heavily.   
The tension is so thick you could use it to insulate your house. There's an edge in the air that hadn't been there before. What part he can see of Morrison's face looks like a kicked puppy and -  
“Aw hell. Anyone up for poker?“ Jesse suggests. He always has a deck in his gear, next to his cigars.   
Morrison perks up immediately and Jesse definitely knows he's read too much of Angela's romance novels when the closest thing he can compare that expression to is a fucking ray of fucking sunshine.   
“Careful, Jack, he cheats,“ Reyes warns, but his tone is friendly enough.

 

They pass the time playing poker, using a crate as a table and munition clips as chips. It's more of an excercise in bonding than a valid card game, but it's good. Reyes is shrewd as ever, poker face on. Morrison is all smiles which turns out to be damn efficent as well. Guy could have the worst hand and still show his pearly whites. Poker is more about playing the player and less about playing the game, Jesse has learnt. Morrison is clearly intelligent, capable of strategic thinking when he puts his mind to it and mostly occupied with bantering with Reyes. Carefully, Jesse listens when they make references to old missions and adventures, asks a few questions about the more interesting ones.  
”And then we realize that detonating the charge also warped the doorframe and we couldn't get out that way. Jack turns to me and asks how much ammo I have left. In the end, we're down to a shotgun, his sidearm and absolutely nothing else.“  
”You're forgetting the knife“  
”Yes, boyscout also had a knife, I apologize“  
”I threw that through the optics channel of a Bastion unit!“  
”Which shorted out its target recognition system meaning that it was firing at everything including us!“  
“But not exclusively us.“  
Both laugh and Jesse has to grin. They're damn good stories, he has to admit.  
“Was that the one in Spain?“ he asks.  
“Norway,“ Morrison clarifies at the same time as Reyes answers “Sweden“.  
“Norway,“ he repeats, managing to infuse one word with the entire meaning of 'you're wrong, it was definitely Norway, I'm right and I can't believe we're having this discussion again“. It's pretty impressive for two syllables.   
“You're talking about the mission with the god program, that was in Sweden, you remember Torbjörn chewing us out about wrecking his workshop?“  
“No, Sweden was the one with the ambush at midnight.“  
“I thought that was the one where we stole the tank?“  
“You're going to have to be more specific.“  
“Wait,“ Jesse interrupts them, “there were multiple missions involving you stealing tanks? Apparently so many you can't keep them straight?“  
Both shrug. “Yeah?“

 

Jesse dozes for a bit while they're over mainland US. It's comfortable, for a jet speeding through the skies on the way to a to-secret mission to eliminate a terror cell. Reyes to his right radiates warmth like a black-clad space-heater and both supersoldiers talk in low voices.   
“I am glad you asked me along for this mission,” Morrison admits quietly.  
“You were the perfect man for the job,” Reyes starts, but sighs before he goes on to say more.   
Apparently Morrison doesn't need to hear the words themselves, because he responds with “I know”. It's a far cry from the cocky grin, the head of Overwatch, the Strike Commander. He sounds regretful.   
There's some rustling. Jesse risks a peek. Morrison is twisted sideways in his seat, facing Reyes as much as possible. From his position behind Reyes, Jesse can barely make out the arm Reyes has raised, cupping Morrison's cheek, thumb stroking over the skin and stubble.   
“If I had my way,” Reyes begins and a sad smile steals itself on Morrison's face before he closes his eyes and leans into he warm hand.  
“If you had your way,” he prompts for Reyes to continue.   
“You'd be right here with me all the damn time. No press conferences, no meetings, no more leaving you behind in Geneva. If I jump from a plane, you're right beside me. Well, knowing you, you're out first, upside down and yelling at me to hurry up.”  
Reyes goes on in a similar manner, illustrating his Blackwatch missions with Morrison right there. Jesse feels guilty for about the third time today. It feels like intruding on someone's innermost thought, hopes and desires. And although he didn't choose to eavesdrop, it nevertheless feels like somehting he has no right to hear. Reyes is baring his heart as far as Jesse can tell and it's an action-packed, high-risk adventure – like the life he is leading – with one difference. Morrison by his side. Always. He wonders if that's how it was during the crisis. Like they have always been inseparable, like it's madness to split them up, to even think about making them walk separate ways. And it's not Morrison's fault.   
The story had seemed so simple, right until 5am today, some hours ago. Poster boy steals hard-earned job from true hero, soaks up fame and glory, leaving the hero to do his dirty work. He's seen that movie a hundred times, read that book a dozen times, seen it in action. It's a compelling story, so he never questioned it. Hell, Reyes never said a single word to make him doubt his assumptions. That had been on purpose, probably.   
Earlier Morrison said that the promotion had been a surprise. A shock, judging from Reyes' addition to the story. And Reyes had never wanted the job? Sounded like Morrison hadn't either...like he doesn't want it even now. How does this work? How did someone who didn't want to be Strike Commander, head of Overwatch, get the position? It's a show, Jesse decides. Of course it's a show. Morrison does make a pretty picture – classically handsome, non-threatening, poster boy soldier and hero, promoted from the battlefield and reckognized for his efforts at keeping the world safe to being made in charge of the world's foremost peacekeeping organisation. Hollywod must have pumped out flicks like that since the first camera had been invented. And Jesse had bought into it. He has to get his head out of his own ass and re-evaluate the situation. 

If he had never heard the name Jack Morrison before today, if he hadn't heard anything about his history or the business with Reyes, what would he have learned from his first actual interaction with the man?   
Supersoldier, tall, muscular, coming with Reyes in a matched set.   
Sense of humor. Kind. Ridiculously in love with Reyes.   
If he factors in their poker tales, also hell of an adrenaline junkie and not above fighting dirty and being frighteningly creative with what objects can be used as weapons. Can apparently take out an Omnic warehouse with a single clip of pulse ammunition, steal a tank with just his sidearm and destroy a Bastion using the severed head of another Bastion unit.   
The real Jack Morrison probably lies somewhere in the middle of all that.


	3. Chapter 3

Reyes' rumbling is comforting as he imagines all sorts of classified missions made easier or at least more entertaining with Morrison.   
“Finally, we could finally do a proper drive-by once in a while.”

“With you behind the wheel and me mowing down enemies,” Morrison adds

“Hanging out of the window with just your lower legs inside the car although I told you a hundred times how unsafe that shit is,”  
“And me not hearing your complaining over the sound of the explosions.”

“Which explosions?” Reyes asks amusedly.

“Like there wouldn't be explosions when we're left unsupervised.”

Reyes chuckles. “You would be there to help with the kid. I feel like I'm making stuff up half the time, imparting life lessons and stuff _I_ haven't even learnt yet.”  
Wait, what kid? Does Reyes have a child? How did Jesse miss this? 

“I think you're doing alright. Going from zero to criminal teenage gunslinger can't have been easy and so far he turned out alright.”

Oh. They're talking about him. That's not what he... it's unexpected. 

“Wait until you have seen him in action.”

“I've been listening to you brag about him for months, I hope you know I have high expectations.”

Jesse feels too hot. Almost like he can't breathe. But he's not back there in Deadlock, not in the desert or dusty hideouts. He's with Reyes, which makes this jet the safest place on earth as far as he is concerned.   
The radio crackles to life.  
“We just passed the border. ETA 45 minutes,” Ramirez informs them. 

 

Reyes claps a hand on his shoulder.   
“Enough sleep for now, Jesse, it's almost show time.”  
Jesse doesn't even have to pretend to be startled and hopes it's a convincing show of being woken up abruptly.   
“I'm awake, I'm awake,” he says quickly, slightly slurring his words, appearing for all the world like Reyes just tore him from deep slumber. 

 

Morrison goes over the parachutes again while Reyes double-checks that their explosives are stored correctly and won't blow them (and a significant part of the jungle) up on impact. Jesse checks his gun, ammunition and wants a smoke fiercely. Apparently everything is to the commanders' satisfaction.

“Now, make a good impression and don't embarrass me in front of him,” Reyes says and Jesse already rolls his eyes before he wants to respond, but Morrison beats him to the punch.   
“I make no promises.”  
Like it was meant for him. 

Reyes grins.  
“No aerial stunts.”  
Maybe it was. 

 

Jesse decides not even a minute later that that jab had _absolutely_ been meant for Morrison. While he is busy concentrating on landing on their target area, Reyes has a hold on their stash and probably everything else. Morrison, however, did indeed jump first. Also upside-down and with a victorious cry of joy that tugs on Jesse's heartstrings. Jesse waits for Reyes' command to open the parachute and both do it at the same time. Morrison is still hurtling through the sky in freefall and Jesse is concerned. It's bad enough to jump out of a moving plane. Doing the same at night over the jungle is worse. Over the comms Morrison laughs like he's at some amusement park, riding a rollercoaster.   
“I'll never live it down if the Strike Commander dies on my watch,” Reyes grumbles and Jesse hears it over the comm.  
“That would be hell of a mission report to fill out, boss,” he chimes in helpfully.   
Reyes groans in return.   
“Don't worry, Gabe, I know how much you hate paperwork,” Morrison replies cheerfully and finally they hear his parachute deploying. 

 

Jesse braces for the landing. If you told him a year before that he'd ever (voluntarily) jump out of a plane, he'd laughed. It is the 4th mission involving them to jump, plus he's had several simulations and a few training flights. Still, it is enough to make him feel uneasy. There's very little he can control until he reaches the ground. Just a bit of wind could spell death for him and that doesn't sit right with him. But Reyes is there and that man is unshakeable. He lands safely and immediately there is a steadying arm at his side, Morrison deftly detaching the chute and freeing Jesse from the cumbersome fabric. 

“Are you alright?” he asks and Jesse is reminded of the poster that's in the entrance hall of his dorm. Like they had a photographer trailing them in the wars, just waiting for shots of Morrison in action. Reyes is in those, too, but never in the center, never doing the heroic poses that Morrison shows off regularly. 

“And you didn't think to ask me. You wound me, Jack,” Reyes interrupts his thoughts and Morrison turns around.

“If you're too old to do a simple night drop, I'll send you into retirement,” Jack quips, “I hear Torbjörn's always looking for babysitters. Should you require a change of pace.”

Reyes grins that panther-like grin. “I'll show you what I'm capable of.”

 

Reyes and Morrison carry most of the gear. Morrison walks in the front, the visor probably equipped with infrared. Or maybe the supersoldier program gave him x-ray eyes. Jesse has heard enough weird stories about that experiment. He never heard about other successful participants apart from Reyes or Morrison. But he's not sure if that means that there aren't any or that they're kept under wraps.   
“And here's the bridge,” Morrison announces and they stop.   
Reyes has absolutely been right. That's a bridge only if by bridge you meant “derelict rope ladder with wood that breaks just by looking at it, moss-covered rope and the vague feeling of death everytime you looked at it”. 

“I ain't crossing that,” he protests before Reyes can come up with any dumb ideas like “Let Jesse go first, he can squeeze through the tunnel” like he did in Barcelona or “Jesse's the lighest, I'll toss him up there” like in Hong Kong.   
Shit. Maybe he should have checked that this hasn't been Reyes' plan from the beginning. Maybe that's why Morrison is really here, so they can toss him over a chasm with a deadly drop. 

“At ease, soldier,” Morrison reassures him and then takes off his pack. And gun. And visor. 

“Whoa, what is going on here?” Jesse asks. 

Back on the plane Reyes has assured him that Morrison can get over there easily. That's the whole reason for taking him in the first place. 

“Jesse, that's my secret track&field trophy. Trophy, you've met Jesse,” Reyes introduces them and grins as Jesse looks at him in confusion and disbelief.

“You are shitting me. He's just gonna jump?”

“What did you think I was going to do?” Morrison asks. He's stretching his legs. 

“Climb down the chasm and scale back up the other side. Rock-climbing shit. Not this!”

“I could do that, but where's the fun in that?” Morrison says. 

Jesus Christ. And he thought Reyes was enough to handle. As it turns out, Reyes might actually be the stable, sensible one in that relationship. 

“That's like 40 feet,” Jesse tries to reason with him. That's suicide, even for a super soldier.

“46,” Reyes adds helpfully.

“A challenge then,” Morrison's is finished with his preparations. He takes a device from Reyes – looks like a grappling gun's bigger, meaner cousin and secures it onto his back. 

“See you on the other side,” he says with a grin and then books it. 

Morrison runs towards the chasm and that's it, Jesse can already see how he's going to be at a trial, describing how he saw the Strike Commander turn into a bloody smear on the bottom of a chasm. 

Morrison's legs pump and he's getting faster and faster. It takes barely seconds, yet it's almost in slow-motion for Jesse. No single movement wasted, every step precise and calculated and this must be how the enemy feels when they see Reyes coming after them. There's no stopping him. 

Morrison jumps, his legs still going, like those Olympians on TV. He's suspended in the air for a moment and then he's on the other side and rolls on impact. Before Jesse can close his mouth from the slack-jawed awe he displayed just then, Morrison is back on his feet, turned around and pumps his arm in the air triumphantly. 

“Show-off,” Reyes grumbles fondly and over the comm Morrison answers.

“You love it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jesse knows that he resembles a particularly dimwitted fish, but he just can't stop gawking with his mouth hanging open.  
“I know,” Reyes tells him as he secures something to the ground. It's a contraption made of steel that digs itself into the ground as he presses a button. It's a device originally created for relief efforts after natural disasters. Morrison has its conterpart which will burrow itself into the ground, leaving only the top part, a large ring, exposed. A steel cable can be deployed between the two anchor points, creating the basis for a supply chain. Or, as Blackwatch has repurposed it, a bridge, if you're crazy enough to balance over a steel cable with an 8 inch diameter. Jesse prefers to proceed hand over hand, security rig tying him safely to the cable.  
“Watch your heads,” Morrison's voice warns them over the comm. He's ready to fire the steel cable. They usually need to use a machine for that, a normal guy can't lift the firing apparatus by himself and the recoil is enough to break something – usually the person standing too close.  
Reyes moves out of the way and firmly pushes Jesse behind him.  
The cable comes like a devilish snake and with a clank the magnetic endpiece connects to the ring. Reyes secures the cable and that's it. Now there's only 46 feet of lethal height to cross and then... there's a terrorist camp armed to the teeth to take care of before they have to either go back here (over the same chasm) or find a new landing spot.  
Jesse feels wiped out and they're at step 2 of 20. On autopilot he gets into the safety harness and double-checks that the two cables coming from it have safely been attached to the big cable.  
“You go first,” Reyes prompts and gives him a nudge to proceed.  
For a terrible second it reminds him of then, of Deadlock.  
In his mind there's a chorus of voices, barked orders and jeers. Let Jesse go first. If he gets shot, we'll take the other way. Jesse can test it. If the vest can take the shot, we'll take 30. If not, someone needs to dig a grave for lil Jesse here. 

But Reyes wouldn't do that to him. Logically he knows that Reyes wants him to go first so he's the first on the other side, so he'll be safe sooner. That way, Jesse is between two supersoldiers and things probably can't get safer than that.  
Damn, he wants a smoke. 

He tries to calm the lizard part ( or whatever primal lurks in a man) of his brain. The cable is secure. The harness is secure. He can't fall. Worst case, he loses consciousness, he'll dangle from the cable while Reyes pushes him forward and Jesse won't live that down ever.  
Jesse rubs the gloves on his uniform, knowing his sweaty palms don't matter. Then he holds on tight, brings his legs up and hugs the cable. It's several inches of solid steel. Probably something even better, some reinforced almost magical metal. It won't snap. 

As he begins his journey, stomach doing summersaults in his body, the comm crackles to life.  
“Easy, Jesse. You're doing fine. Just one hand in front of the other, you got this,” Morrison reassures him.  
A gust of wind comes up and he freezes. The wind tugs at him and that's it. He'll fall and die horribly, or worse, he'll lose it and disappoint Reyes. Jesse feels incredibly small.  
“Do not even think about turning around, soldier,” Reyes warns him, “I'm not going back with 100 pounds of explosives strapped to me.”  
Jesse doesn't know what does it, the gentle encouragement or Reyes behind him, but he moves forward again. 

“There you are,” Morrison says finally and a hand finds Jesse's wrist before tugging him all the way until the cables on his harness clink against the ring of the device.  
“Get this thing off while I help him,” a pat on his shoulder (still hanging to the cable) and Morrison goes over to take the pack from Reyes.  
Jesse gets his breath back, feels how soaked his uniform is with sweat.  
“Can we take another way back, Boss?” he asks.  
“I'll signal Ramirez once we're done,” Reyes promises, “we're not doing this crap again.”  
Morrison almost looks disappointed. “I thought it was fun.”  
“You also thought that zip-lining over enemy territory in a blizzard using a decomissioned ski lift was fun,” Reyes reminds him.  
“Yes,” Morrison replies in a voice like it was genuine fun and he couldn't get why anyone would not be overjoyed to repeat the experience, like this was Blizzardworld and they had just gotten off the Goldshire ride. Jesse can't shake the mental image of the Strike Commander in a tourist get-up – Hawaiian shirt, shorts, socks and sandals with a fanny pack – in line at the rollercoaster.  
Reyes shakes his head fondly. Jesse recognizes that gesture. It's universal for 'you're an idiot, but you're _my_ idiot'.  
“Let's get going.”

The trek through the forest is almost uneventful. With Morrison as a guide they're on the safest path to the camp. Suddenly Morrison signals for them to stop.  
There's tension in his body. Jesse's hands slips to his revolver.  
“IED,” he explains and crouches down to get a better look.  
“Jack,” Reyes says firmly. There's a universe in the name. Be careful, be safe, are we in danger, I trust you.  
Morrison disarms the whole thing in seconds.  
“I'll scan if there are any more.”  
He touches the earpiece with the visor attached and it glows briefly in dark red.  
“There are more around. Looks like they laid them in a circle, to secure the perimeter. None in our path.”

“Can we get anything this fancy for Blackwatch?” Jesse drawls as Morrison looks around. “Could have been handy in Hong Kong.”  
“That's the only working prototype,” Reyes explains, “other test subjects got overwhelmed with the sensory input. Morrison only uses one lens and only for a few seconds, otherwise you're in for a migraine from hell.”  
“But we use scanners all the time,” Jesse points out in confusion.  
“In the ship, we calibrate the scanners, tell it to look for heat signatures, infra-red and the like. We limit the input. The computer does the work. The field version doesn't have a computer interface or an AI to regulate it. There's only on and off.”  
Jesse gets the impression that there's more to this story, but there's time for questions, for curiosity and time to shut up and do his job and that definitely feels like the latter.  
“We're clear,” Morrison says and turns to face them. He flashes them a grin before motioning to get a move on. 

 

The camp itself is comprised of a few buildings and a fence on three sides. There's a road and three trucks are parked next to it. An elevated post with a guard. Boxes covered in a camouflage net. And of course a nasty looking turret, audibly whirring, as it pans from left to right and back again. 

The plan is to take out the turret, disable the vehicles and neutralize the lookout. All at the same time. Then they can take care of the other guards, destroy their equipment and radio for pick-up. Easy. 

As Reyes divides up the contents of his pack (explosives upon explosives), Morrison flashes them a cocky grin, then raises his fist and cups it with his right hand.  
“Play you for the turret?”  
“Boss,” Jesse says before his jaw disobeys him again, “is that the Strike Commander daring us to go rock-paper-scissors on taking on the deadly turret?”  
“Taking out the turret,” Morrison replies.  
Reyes shakes his head again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thanks for the lovely comments!  
> They help me going - I wrote this chapter inspired by the latest one, just riding the wave of excitement and enthusiasm.


End file.
